


Interlude: After Dark

by PadawanRyan



Series: Quarantine 'Verse (aka Close Enough to Reality) [7]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Interlude, M/M, Mild Domestic Content, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Quarantine, Sexual Fantasy, Still Not Reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanRyan/pseuds/PadawanRyan
Summary: If Pete wanted to raise a little nudist colony in his Los Angeles mansion, far be it for Patrick to forbid the man whose name was on the deed. As long as he didn’t expect Patrick to do the same, because that was a whole level of comfort he wasn’t quite ready for yet.Patrick was getting carried away. His ADHD did not, apparently, understand the importance of focusing on phone sex.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: Quarantine 'Verse (aka Close Enough to Reality) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720804
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Interlude: After Dark

**Author's Note:**

> God, wow. This was a _thing_ to write because good lord, you will understand when you read it. I've actually been sitting on this idea since like _an hour_ after I posted the last fic in this series, doing an interlude to show one of those "after dark" phone calls that they've referenced a few times, but I didn't want to post something so soon after that -- and I was also not feeling like writing at that very moment. So, I held onto the idea and figured I'd write it sometime this month when I felt motivated, as one last fic before their reunion.
> 
> So, here we are! This is the penultimate fic in this series, because I imagine that I'll probably finish the quarantine 'verse after the reunion. That's not a _guarantee_ , because if I feel inspired to do more then I certainly might, but the series centered around the two of them being apart during quarantine. So, expect that there's only one more fic in this series, but don't stop watching the series just in case something else happens (like another live stream) and I want to add a fic about it.

“You should put your phone on speaker.” Patrick froze. Pete did _not_ just say that. “You did _not_ just say that,” Patrick verbalized.

“Why not?” the older man asked.

“You do realize that this is like, a small house, right? It’s not your mansion and I have two small kids here that I do _not_ want hearing whatever filthy stuff you’re going to be saying in thirty seconds, so no, I think I’m gonna stick to this, thank you.”

“Jeez,” Pete began. “Doth protests too much.”

“That doesn’t even—”

“How is it any different than you talking dirty over the phone? Do you think about whether the boys can hear when you’re telling _me_ what to do with _my_ hands?”

_Yes_ , if he’s being completely honest. He _does_ think about whether or not the boys could hear him whenever he and Pete did these late night, after dark phone calls. But it’s not as though he could just go outside and finger himself in the backyard to make sure they don’t hear, it’s not like he had a tree house to hide in so that the neighbours didn’t call the police about Patrick’s indecency. God, he would _never_ live it down if he was arrested _yet again_ , and this time for an even stupider reason than the first time. So, of course he worried about whether the boys might hear him coaxing Pete to touch his prostate, but the one benefit in that situation was that _he_ was in control. If _he_ thought he was being too loud, then _he_ could stop.

And while Patrick trusted that Pete would stop if Patrick told him to any time during sex, he didn’t quite trust himself to actually _tell_ Pete.

“Well,” he began. “I mean—”

“Would it make you feel better if I kept it down? If I used my _low, sultry voice_ to tell you to gently caress the ring around your hole before you slip one—”

“Yes!” Patrick squeaked. “Yes, yes, _please_ do that, oh god.”

“Do you have both hands?”

Patrick quickly pressed the speaker button on his phone before placing it down on the pillow beside his. At least if Pete’s voice was coming from the other pillow, it might feel as though Pete was right there in bed with him, right beside him. “Yes,” he confirmed.

“Okay, and one hand is still on your cock where you last had it?” Jeez, Pete was asking a lot of questions tonight. Patrick nodded.

“Verbalize, ’Trickster. You know I can’t see you nodding.”

“If you know that I’m nodding, then why do you even need me to say anything?”

“Because consent is important,” Pete reasoned.

And well, Patrick couldn’t quite argue with that, so he confirmed again aloud, “yes, my hand is still on my cock.” Because before Pete had even suggested that Patrick put the phone on speaker, he already had the younger man slowly stroking his cock, pretending that it was the bassist’s calloused hand instead of his own. God, it had been _five months_ of pretending that his hand was Pete’s and he was so impatient to feel his partner’s hand _for real_ again. Soon, he reminded himself — soon he and the boys would be in Los Angeles and Pete would be there and _naked_ and within _touching distance_. Well, hopefully Pete would be wearing clothes when he and the kids arrived, but it _was_ Pete’s house.

If Pete wanted to raise a little nudist colony in his Los Angeles mansion, far be it for Patrick to forbid the man whose name was on the deed. As long as he didn’t expect Patrick to do the same, because that was a whole level of comfort he wasn’t quite ready for yet.

Patrick was getting carried away. His ADHD did not, apparently, understand the importance of focusing on phone sex.

“You’ve got your lube out?” Pete asked.

He reached out to grab it with his free hand without even letting go of his—oh, so _that’s_ why Pete wanted him to have both hands available. Patrick had to admit that Pete was pretty smart about these things sometimes.

“Yes, I’m holding it right now.”

“Okay, I want you to lube up your hand. The one on your cock,” he added for clarification.

He knew better than to question Pete during sex because Pete _always_ had a plan. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true – in their short time together (compared to the amount of time they had known each other, they really hadn’t been together _that_ long at all), they’d had plenty of little spur of the moment, unplanned fucks in bathrooms, closets, even on the trampoline in Pete’s backyard because at least _Pete’s_ neighbours were a slight bit further away from the yard than Patrick’s – but in moments like _these_ , Pete absolutely had a plan. So, Patrick did exactly as Pete had instructed.

“Now what?” he asked, trying not to sound quite so impatient.

“Now,” Pete began, lowering his voice to that sultry voice that made Patrick’s cock twitch, “I want you to close your eyes and put the hand back on your cock. Make sure you verbalize, ’Trick. I need to know what you’re feeling.”

Patrick complied and closed his eyes. He placed his hand back on his cock, all slick with lube. “Done.”

“Now gently squeeze as you stroke all the way down to your balls.” Patrick let out a breathy gasp as he did exactly that, but he wasn’t sure if Pete could hear it with the phone across the bed. That was going to be the one downside to using speaker phone, he supposed: Patrick was going to have to be _louder_ in order to ensure Pete even heard him. It didn’t matter, though, because Pete kept going anyway. “What do you see?” the older man asked.

“You,” Patrick breathed out, loud enough for Pete to hear. “I see your head between my legs, my cock in your throat…”

“Good. Now _slowly_ stroke all the way back up. When you get to the head,” the bassist explained, “close your fist around it gently and imagine that I am sucking on _just the head_.”

This time Patrick let out a gasp audible enough that he would be surprised if Pete _hadn’t_ heard it, though the other man was giving no indication that he could hear any of Patrick’s sounds. He squeezed out a desperate “ _Pete_ ,” watching as the man’s honey eyes bore into his while Pete’s mouth was enclosed over the head of his cock. He couldn’t quite do it justice with his hand, but he _knew_ what Pete would be doing if he was _really_ sucking Patrick off and had no trouble imagining it — Pete tounging the slit while holding Patrick’s thighs down, prepared for the younger man to writhe beneath his hands.

“That good, babe?”

“Y-yeah,” Patrick stuttered out. “Oh _god_ , Pete. _Pete_ , you’re so good, baby.”

Sometimes he felt silly calling Pete “baby” since it seemed like such a teenage endearment, but he couldn’t help when it came out during sex. It was as though his brain’s automatic response was that Pete was “baby” and that was that.

“Fuck, ’Trick, you taste _so good_.” He wasn’t going to last very long if Pete was going to talk like that.

“ _Peeeete_ ,” he whined.

“Still got the lube by you?” the older man asked abruptly.

Patrick nodded, taking a second again to remember to _verbalize_. “Yes, the lube is still here,” he confirmed.

“Take a moment to coat your fingers on your other hand. Do a whole three.”

It took so much mental strength not to break the mood – to still envision that Pete was there with him – that he refused to open his eyes. He reached haphazardly at the mattress beside him for a moment until he felt the lube, though he did have to remove his already-slick hand from his cock to apply the substance to his other hand. Patrick couldn’t quite see how much lube he was using, but he figured that too much would be preferable to too little – and require less stopping to re-lube – so he just squirted out a whole blob and spread it over his fingers.

Returning his right hand to the head of his cock, he said to Pete, “okay, I’m ready.”

“Keep stroking yourself,” the bassist instructed. “I’m still sucking you, but I’ve brought one lubed finger to your tight, _desperate_ hole. I’m not pushing in yet, but I’m rubbing that pucker. It’s so _warm_ , so _ready_ for me.”

Patrick was whining, he _knew_ he was whining as he did exactly what Pete instructed. He could visualize Pete doing exactly that, and if Patrick had his hands free, he’d be clutching the sheets beneath him. He would never be able to deny that Pete Wentz was definitively, unequivocally an absolute _sex god_ — Pete wasn’t even _fucking him_ yet and already he had Patrick unraveling beneath his hands. It had also been forever since Pete had _actually_ touched him that Patrick was pretty desperate for _anything_ at this point, but Pete had always known exactly how to make him squirm, both as a best friend _and_ a lover.

“I press down on your hot, tight hole and slip one finger in,” Pete continued. The younger man slipped in a finger and moaned.

“Fuck, _Pete_.”

“I crane my finger and stroke you on the inside as I take your gorgeous, hard cock into my throat again. I hold it there a moment, gagging slightly but not hard enough that I have to pull back, while I explore further with my finger. Have I found your prostate yet?”

It takes Patrick a moment to push his finger far enough into his ass that he comes into contact with his prostate. It wasn’t that he couldn’t reach it easily on his own, but Patrick was a small man with small hands and it definitely took some effort. It wasn’t fair that Pete was also a small man but he had such long fingers, such _talented_ fingers. He cried out when he stroked his prostate, bucking into his hand and imagining Pete gagging a second time, this time unexpectedly as Patrick’s cock lodged its way into his throat again. If Patrick had his hands free, he would grab the other man’s hair and _hold him there_.

“ _Yes_ , god, _fuck_ ,” he babbled. “I-I gagged you again. Accidentally. I’m holding your head down on my cock as you finger my ass.”

“ _Fuck_ , ’Trick. Yes, babe, good, you’re _so good_. Push in another finger.”

Patrick pushed in another finger.

His ass was tight, Pete was always saying that and Patrick had fingered himself plenty enough times to know that, but he could feel the slight burn as he pushed the second finger deeper to meet the first. As the second also met his prostate and the two stroked together, Patrick was moaning wantonly. So much for worrying whether the kids would hear him, because there was _no_ way he was keeping _anywhere_ close to quiet now.

“Now push in a third.” He did. “Keep holding my head down and fuck my face.”

And _oh god_ , this was absolute _bliss_. He could see Pete’s honey eyes glance up at him, filled with the tears that came from gagging, as Patrick gripped onto his long, dark hair and thrust up into his throat over and over. He had three fingers in his ass, which made it much more difficult for Patrick to hit the sweet spot again, but he was feeling stretched and it was _wonderful_. Pete continued to finger him, craning and stroking and filling him up, as Patrick continued thrusting at his face. A litany of “ _Pete, Pete, Pete,_ ” escaped in high pitched whines and he had _no_ idea what Pete was doing on his end of the phone, but he could _hear_ the panting now.

“Fuck, Pete, I’m not gonna—”

“Grab your phone,” the older man demanded. Now _he_ sounded impatient. “Keep your fingers in your ass but grab your phone. Turn on FaceTime. I have to see your face as you cum.”

Patrick did as he was instructed, wiping his lube-covered hand on his sheet momentarily before reaching for and grabbing the phone from his pillow. He pressed the FaceTime button to switch the call from audio to video, waiting for only a second before Pete accepted on his end, and—there he was. There was _Pete_ , and he looked _so good_. The older man was sweaty and his hair was so mussed that he must have been writhing around on his own bed – he looked like he had _definitely_ been fucked – and Patrick could barely hold on any longer.

“Keep fingering yourself,” he _watched_ the other man say. “I’ve got my fingers deep inside of you, feeling the warmth of your tight ass squeezing around them.”

He must look _thoroughly fucked_ to Pete, there’s no way he couldn’t, because he was _feeling_ thoroughly fucked.

But now there was a problem — he wasn’t sure that he could get himself off if he had one hand in his ass and the other holding his phone so that Pete could see him.

Patrick _needed_ a hand on his cock.

“Close your eyes, ’Trick. There we go, good boy,” he praised as Patrick complied. “I’m fingering you hard and deep, angling over and over to hit your prostate dead on—” and Patrick somehow managed to do exactly that with his fingers, “—while holding your hard cock and watching you squirm. I lean down and flick my tongue over your slit, I want you to come on my face, I want—”

One more touch to his sweet spot and Patrick was crying out, spilling all over his legs and the sheet between them.

Whatever his orgasm face looked like, that must have been enough for Pete, because while Patrick’s eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he couldn’t quite _see_ the other man, he could hear Pete cry out as he lost it on his end.

Their orgasms were followed by silence for what could have been years.

Finally, Patrick opened his eyes.

Somewhere along the way, he must have dropped his phone, because it was no longer in his hand instead sat right beside him. Picking it up, he met Pete’s equally _fucked out_ expression. He couldn’t help but smile because he loved this man _so fucking much_. “God, ’Trick,” the other man said breathily, “you are _so fucking gorgeous_ , babe.”

“You were ama—”

“Daddy?”

Patrick froze. Oh god, this was his worst fear come to life. He was laying in his bed naked as the day he had been born, covered in his own cum, and feeling far too exhausted to actually get up and clean himself. And yet, there was Declan’s voice on the other side of the door, knocking and turning the—oh, good. Patrick had at least remembered to lock the door. The last thing he wanted was to traumatize his six year old after having some of the absolute _best_ phone sex of his life, because well, then he could never have sex again. Ever. He’d have to move to a convent, become a nun or something. Were there male nuns? Were those priests? Patrick wished that he knew more about religion so he could plan his abstinent repentance.

“Daddy?” Declan asked again, and it sounded like his voice was wavering this time. “I wet the bed again.”

Oh, _thank god_.

He hadn’t been coming to check on Patrick because he heard strange noises, but because he wet the bed. Patrick could deal with wetting the bed, Patrick had dealt with many a-wet beds in his life, both at Declan’s age and as an adult (though he would absolutely deny if his son asked that he had _caused_ any of those wet beds, no siree).

“Pete?” he switched off FaceTime and held the phone up to his ear. “I’ve got a situation here, so I’ll have to call you back.”

“Damn, you’re skipping out on me? I knew it, I knew Patrick Stump would break my heart—”

“Oh, shut up. Dec wet the bed, so I need to get cleaned up and then go get _him_ cleaned up. Thank you for fucking my brains out tonight, and I’ll call you back later when I no longer have dried cum in my leg hair, okay?”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the older man responded. “But fine. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Also, let it be known that you never _once_ cleaned my sheets when they were filled with piss, so I’m feeling a little jilted here—”

Patrick ended the call and tossed his phone down on the bed, turning to the mirror with hopes of making himself look presentable enough. Not that he necessarily had to look _presentable_ for Declan, and his son was unlikely to understand exactly what his disheveled appearance was all about, but it was the principle of the matter. His hair wouldn’t sit quite right but oh well, the kid had seen him with bed head before, so that would be good enough. Plus, if he and Pete were going to be living together soon, he’d have to get used to running out of the room looking completely fucked out for every wet bed or nightmare.

God, he and Pete were going to be _living together_ soon. Again. But this time as an actual _couple_ instead of some immature young adults with a piss problem.

Soon. He’d be able to _touch him_.

Patrick closed his eyes a moment to swallow his longing before unlocking the door and meeting his son.

_Soon_.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on social media! I'm **padawanryan** on [Tumblr](https://padawanryan.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PadawanRyan), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/padawanryan/). ✌️


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